Hey Young Blood
by RobinRocks
Summary: Pacific Rim crossover. "Only you would have the balls to stand up in the middle of a deadly-serious meeting about the fate of the world and suggest building giant robots to combat the problem!" In the earliest days of the Kaiju War, nations are the only ones capable of handling the single-pilot Jaeger system without it killing them. USUK/Franada/GerIta


Uhhhhhhhhh yes I _am _starting another new fic omfg... T.T

Ahhh, _Pacific Rim_. In mecha terms, you're pretty run-of-the-mill. In Hollywood terms, you're one of the freshest ideas I've seen in a long time. You'll never be _Evangelion_, it's true, but hey, who _doesn't _want to see sea-monsters getting their heads pounded in by CGI Gundams at the local cinema? Mecha really ought to be more mainstream outside Japan. Why? Because it's _amazing_. At least four of my Top Ten Anime are mecha, yet I spend 99.9% of my free time writing about gay countries. I could (and statistically _should_) be writing about giant robots instead.

BUT NOW I get to write about gay countries _and _giant robots. Huzzah!

This should hopefully just be super-quick, though, a two-parter (she says). I got the idea for this fic from a tumblr post which went something along the lines of 'But who seriously had the balls to stand up in the middle of an international discussion about the kaiju and suggest building giant robots to punch them a lot?' (completely paraphrased, ahaha) and then someone else responded with a screenshot of America from _Hetalia_. XD WHICH, TO BE FAIR, does more or less sum up the entire first episode of _Hetalia Axis Powers_. Let's be honest: if _Hetalia _and _Pacific Rim _existed in the same universe, the Jaeger Programme would absolutely and undoubtedly be America's suggestion.

And although it was just a funny tumblr post, it really did get me thinking about how the personified nations would react to the kaiju threat and then the idea wouldn't leave me alone and HERE WE ARE.

This is set BEFORE the events of the _Pacific Rim _film, right at the beginning of the Kaiju War. Therefore later Jaegers like Gipsy Danger (MK III) and Striker Eureka (MK V) do not appear; likewise, neither do the characters of Raleigh and Mako. There are some appearances from other characters that would (I believe) have been around at this point. Again, this is not a _Pacific Rim_/_Hetalia _mash-up AU where the _APH _characters replace the _Pacific Rim _ones (which I have seen done); rather they exist alongside one another in the same universe.

Also I had some fun coming up with Jaeger names. :3

Hey Young Blood

I/II

"You saw it, right? Right, England?!" America brandished both fists at him excitedly. "I near abouts punched that thing to the _moon_!"

"I did see, yes," England replied calmly, holding out both arms so that the metal gauntlets could be removed by the members of his team flurrying about him. "America, you really oughn't be in here right now, you're in the way-"

"And then it started gnawing on Sakura Song's cannon, I had Japan screaming in my ear to get it off - so what else could I do but bodyslam it?! It never saw Cosmic Revolution coming, that's for sure!" America laughed, neatly sidestepping as two engineers came through with the wheeled container for England's suit. "You'd think, right, if he's the one to call them 'kaiju', he'd be able to hold his own against one, right? I mean, I always figured _Godzilla _was a true story!"

"You _know _that Sakura Song's strong point is not speed," England said witheringly. "It's precision - that's why we're sent out in teams of three."

"Yeah, yeah." America yawned. "So mine's brute strength, right?"

"Precisely." England grunted in discomfort as the metal spine was disconnected and unlocked from his back. "And _mine _is the quick one."

America glanced out through the glass and down; the yawning abyss of winches and platforms and elevators encircled the red British-built Jaeger like a halo. Some of her gold detailing had been damaged in the battle, peeled away by massive teeth.

"Scarlet Monarchy," America mused, smiling at her. "You've yet to let me down."

"Why thank you," England said dryly, finally appearing his side; he was out of his regalia at long last and back in his overalls. "We try, the old girl and I."

America adjusted his glasses, glancing at him.

"I mean as my back-up, of course," he said haughtily.

"Of course." England slapped him on the back. "Come on, let's get dinner. Killing those bastards always gives me an appetite."

"Good idea. Shall we wait for Japan?"

"I expect he's already down there. He doesn't arse about in other people's hangars after a battle, after all."

They weaved through the busy to-and-fro of Scarlet Monarchy's hangar and down the steps to the elevator. America, bouncing on the balls of his feet, jabbed the button six times until the doors closed, then leaned back against the wall. He glanced at England; but there was silence between them as the lift began to move.

"I, uh..." America trailed off, looking at the ceiling.

"What?" England asked irritably, watching the shadows of the cages go overhead.

"...I'm glad we all made it back safe," America muttered. "You know. Again."

England simply raised his eyebrows at him.

"W-well!" America went on defensively, "I-I know we can't _die _but... god damn, those things are terrifying sometimes and we've seen them rip Jaegers apart before...! N-not that any kaiju is gonna rip Cosmic Revolution apart but-"

"I know." England reached for his hand and squeezed it. "But honestly, I prefer to treat it like the war: don't talk about it. Don't think too much about it. If you start realising how lucky you are every time you come back, you won't go out there anymore."

"I'm not _scared_," America said crossly. "It's just I think about it sometimes."

England smiled weakly at him; before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his mouth, which America returned for a fleeting moment just as the elevator shuddered to a halt. England patted his cheek as they parted.

"Just think about all those kaiju kills," he said quietly. "...After all, the Jaeger Programme was _your _idea."

* * *

"What do you mean, they're posting you back to Asia?" America dropped his half-eaten burger back onto his plate in disbelief. "But we need you, Japan! You and me and England always go out to fight the kaiju together!"

Japan simply bowed his head.

"I understand that, America-san," he said calmly. "However, our researchers in the Asian branch have put forward evidence that the kaiju appearances are moving further east along the Breach; that is, with every appearance, the kaiju emerges closer to _our _shores, not yours. It would seem that there is not sufficient protection on our side and it seems unfair to expect China, Kong Kong and Russia to do all of the work."

"But-"

"Oh, give over, America," England said coldly, stirring his tea in its styrofoam cup. "If that _is _the case, you can't expect him to stay here."

"But what if the researchers are wrong?" America looked distraught. "We're a great team - we have nine kaiju kills!"

"Then we'll just have to start a new count." England sighed impatiently at him. "You seem to forget that half of Western Europe is here in California, not to mention the Canadian unit." He sipped at his tea. "In fact, I expect it _will _be Canada. We've run missions with him before."

America groaned, scraping his hands back into his hairline.

"But we're so _good_," he grumbled. "Why they gotta shake everything up when we're _winning_?"

"My apologies, America-san." Japan picked at his food, his shoulders dipping. "And to you as well, England-san. But I have no choice-"

"No, no, I quite see that," England interrupted calmly. "This isn't our conflict, after all. We're just along for the ride. We're immortal - I suppose they might as well make some use of us."

America went back to his burger, chomping on it moodily.

"I don't see what difference it makes," he muttered, his mouth full. "Can't they send Canada or France or Germany over there instead? We'll have to recalibrate, retrain as a unit..." He swallowed, looking intently at his meal. "Seems like more trouble than it's worth. What if another kaiju comes through the Breach while we're all moving about the place?"

"You say that as though we're the only unit," England said coolly.

"We have the most kills!" America pointed out.

"Only one more than Russia and his sisters and two more than Germany and Prussia." England's voice was a little bitter now. "And they're only a two-Jaeger team."

America looked towards him, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Maybe, if we're losing Japan anyway, me an' you could be a two-Jaeger team-"

"No," England said absently," we need a third with a precision skill-set - like Sakura Song. Speed and strength alone aren't enough, not if we're not delivering the killing blow."

"You're forgetting the time I bashed that Category Two's skull in with an oil rig-"

"If you will excuse me." Japan rose, taking his tray, and bowed to them both again. "I must go, I have a meeting with my superiors."

And then he was gone, weaving his way through the crowded cafeteria of the LA Shatterdome. America watched him for a second before tossing his limp burger back to his plate a second time and pushing it away.

"There's no need for that," England muttered reproachfully. "It's not Japan's fault-"

"I know." America gave a frustrated hiss. "I _know_, it's just... ugh, _everything _seems all weird lately, don't you think? Like they're changing stuff around behind our backs."

"Marshal Pentecost hasn't said anything."

America rolled his eyes.

"Ooh, _sorry_, I _forgot _that Pentecost tells you _everything _because he's _British_." He gave a snort. "I mean, what _else _would you talk about in your top-secret meetings in his office over tea and cake?" He scowled then. "No, seriously, what _do _you talk about?"

"London, I'm afraid," England sighed. "Nothing to do with the Jaegers, believe it or not. Britain isn't threatened by the kaiju, after all. I expect the Atlantic's too bloody cold for them."

"Yeah." America reached for his coffee. "Still, I'm not surprised you guys couldn't resist sticking your noses in. You _love _a fight, don't you, England?"

"I certainly do." England nudged him. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Hey, the way I see it, World War Two didn't have nothing to do with _me_." America stuck out his tongue. "So _there_. We're even."

"Indeed." England frowned suddenly; then grimaced, putting a hand to his head.

"You alright?" America's voice grew quiet and concerned; this was all too common.

"I believe so, it's just another of those headaches..." England hissed, pressing his fingertips to his temples. "Bugger me if they aren't getting more frequent, though..."

"Did you tell Dr Choi?"

"Mm. He said I'm not the only one who's complained of it-" England paused suddenly, dabbing at his nose; his fingers came back slick with blood. "..._Oh_."

"Here." America fished in the pocket of his overalls for a clean handkerchief, reaching over and dabbing at England's nose for him. "Uh... nosebleeds?"

"It's not the first time." England closed his fist around the handkerchief, prising it from America's hand and pressing it to his nose. "W-would you excuse me, my dear, I think I should go and lie down for a while..."

"I'll help you." America stood, putting a hand to England's back as he rose and eased himself around the cafeteria bench. "You, uh... you need me to carry you?"

England shot him a sharp look over the white cloth.

"I can manage, thank you."

He was a little uneven on his feet, however, as they made their way through the Shatterdome to the barracks; all nations were housed in the same corridor, one after another, with England's towards the end and nestled between Germany's and America's. America unlocked the door for him and held it open.

"Do you need me to get anyone for you?" he asked quietly from the threshold, watching England flop down on the neatly-made cot. "Choi? Pentecost? _Newt_?"

England shook his head at him, kicking off his boots.

"It's just the typical pounding headache I get after every mission," he replied, almost nonchalant. "I'll just sleep it off for a while. There's no need to worry."

"Okay." America paused, fidgeting with the latch. "I'll come check on you in an hour."

"Alright." England put his hand to his forehead and rolled over, going still.

"England...?" Still America lingered, watching him.

"That's your cue to bugger off." England flapped his arm vaguely at him. "Won't you _go_?"

Sighing, America stepped out of the room, pulling the heavy metal door behind him. Feeling at a bit of a loss, he sank onto the steps leading up to England's door and simply sat there, listening to the buzz and whirr of the place far beneath and high above. He couldn't help but worry about England; nations were immortal, yes, so naturally England's condition wasn't life-threatening, but all the same, it was disconcerting that he developed a headache after every mission, often so bad that he needed to lie down in the middle of the day. Worse still, he knew that other nations had the same complaint, often with worse symptoms than England, which America took to mean only one thing:

The Jaegers were almost as dangerous as the kaiju.

He pulled out his dogtags, fidgeting with them distractedly. He wore two, stacked together like a pair of cards; one new and crisp, his current identity, and the other a dull and dented thing carrying his Army Air Force serial number, which he had worn permanently since December 8th, 1941.

This war was so very different - harder and yet so much easier, all at once - and a rub of his thumb over the tag always made him remember why he was fighting.

"America?"

America started, glancing up; Canada had just stepped out of his room across the hall, pausing on the steps to look at his twin.

"Hey, bro." America waved his hand vaguely at him.

"What's wrong?" Canada asked wryly, his hands in his pockets as he clanged down the steps. "England toss your ass out into the hall?"

America smiled dryly at him.

"Something like that."

"Did you have a fight?" Canada dropped onto the step next to him. "_Again_?"

"Nah, not this time. He's just sleeping off a headache."

"Oh." Canada frowned. "You know, I get those too sometimes. Nosebleeds, too; and numbness from time to time."

America looked at him; at which Canada put up his hands, shaking his head.

"B-but it's fine, I mean, yeah, sleeping it off usually does the trick-"

"I dunno, it's not right," America interrupted. "It seems like I'm about the only one who doesn't get any adverse effects from the Jaegers."

"Because you're Superman," Canada said dryly.

"I mean it!" America rubbed at his forehead. "What does it come down to? Am I better suited to being a Jaeger pilot... or is Cosmic Revolution just a better Jaeger?"

"That must be it," Canada said coolly. "Even though you were jealous of Halo Wild when we first launched her."

"Heh." America scrunched his nose cheerfully at him. "I wouldn't trade Cosmic Revolution for _ten _Halo Wilds."

Canada snorted, stretching his legs out before him.

"You'd be lucky on our budget."

"It _does _seem like they're cutting corners a little, huh?" America sighed. "They're sending Japan back to Asia."

"France said he overheard something about them scrapping the pilot system, actually." Canada looked towards England's door. "...Makes sense, I mean, you're about the only not getting headaches from it and apparently some of the human test pilots have _died_."

America frowned.

"So what are they going to do instead? Run dummy systems? Drones?"

"I-I don't know." Canada shrugged helplessly. "But I don't think we can go on fighting like this much longer, who knows what those Jaegers are doing to our bodies..."

"_I'm _fine," America reminded him sniffily.

"Oh? And what are _you _going to do?" Canada asked irritably. "Fight every single kaiju all by yourself?"

"If I have to-"

"Oh, don't be so stupid." Canada rolled his eyes. "You've been in enough wars by now to know you can't win all on your own - and I don't think the kaiju know how to sign a peace treaty."

"Then that's why we have to go at them with everything we've got!" America stood up. "And if what we're doing right now is _working _then-"

"It's working _now_, maybe," Canada interrupted, "but one day - and one day _soon _- it's probably not going to work and then what? _Then what_, America?" He too stood, folding his arms. "This isn't one of your video games, punching aliens to get points, with infinite lives and Try Agains - though I suspect that's what fuelled your brainwave. Only _you _would have the balls to stand up in the middle of a deadly-serious meeting about the fate of the world and suggest building giant robots to combat the problem!"

"Hey, they did it, didn't they?" America said hotly.

"Because they were desperate." Canada looked at him. "And they're _still _desperate. Do you actually think we're _winning_?"

"Uh, a little bit, yeah!"

"Well, we're not." Canada stalked past him, clanging down the steps. "We're just holding our own. This isn't like any war we've ever fought before, America. We're fighting for survival."

"You think I don't know that?!" America shouted after him, leaning over the rail.

"Then take it seriously." Canada didn't look back at him as he walked away.

America paused, fuming; and was about to go clattering after him for Round Two when the the door behind him suddenly opened and England leaned out, looking very annoyed indeed.

"_Must _you conduct your slanging match on my doorstep?" he asked crossly. "I _told _you that I have a _headache _and that I-" He cut himself off as America pushed past him into the room without a word. "A-and just where the hell do you think you're going?!"

"I have a headache now too," America replied blandly; he went to the narrow metal-framed bed and flopped down on it.

"Well, you can't stay in here!" England pointed to the door. "Out!"

"Sure I can." America shifted back against the wall, holding out his arm. "C'mere, there's plenty of room for us both."

England simply kneaded despairingly at his forehead for a long moment, exhaling through his nose.

"Do you know, I am _simply _too exhausted to argue with you," he groaned. He shuffled to the bed and got on, lying with his back to America. "But don't you dare try anything or I'll throw you out. I mean it. I'm not in the mood."

"Me neither," America replied gloomily; he curled against England's back, gathering him into his arms, his face pressed to his shoulder. He smelt like sweat and smoke and the grind of machinery. "...Me an' Canada were arguing again."

"I heard," England growled.

"I don't think he puts a whole lot of faith in the Jaeger Programme."

"So you keep saying," England sighed. "...But he fights. Isn't that enough?"

"Hmm." America took off his glasses, tossing them onto the nightstand. He closed his eyes, snuggling against England's spine. "I guess we haven't got any choice _but _to fight, though, huh?"

"There are a lot of nations that didn't build Jaegers at all," England reminded him tiredly. "You said you had a headache."

"I do."

"I think you're lying."

America was quiet for a moment; his body buzzing, tired from the fighting barely an hour before. It left such an ache in every limb, the sheer strength it took - even though it was your _mind _doing all the work, really, your head and your heart and your will.

"...England?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think we can win?"

Again, England breathed out through his bloodied nose; wearied, worn-out, by the question that moulded their every battle.

"I don't know, my darling," he said quietly, patting America's hand. "I don't know."

* * *

"Have you been out here the entire time?"

England asked this as he stepped out of the medical room, shrugging his jacket back on; America had been the one to take the trouble to paint _Scarlet Monarchy _and the crown on the back of it, England himself had never been bothered with that sort of thing even the first time around in the Forties.

"Nah." America pushed himself up the wall, stretching. "I went to see Pentecost."

"Oh?"

"Well, he wouldn't see me." America scowled. "Said he was too busy."

"I expect he is. What on earth do you want with him, anyway?"

"I just wanted to ask him what the hell's going on around here, I mean Canada said that _France _said that they might be scrapping the pilot system-"

"I can see why they might be looking into alternative methods," England said coolly.

"Yeah? Speaking of..." America looked pointedly at England. "Choi _finally _looked you over, right? What's the deal with the headaches?"

"The Jaegers, obviously," England said coolly. "To put it bluntly, they're not good for us - for _any _of us. The neural interface system by which we control our Jaeger is incredibly overpowering, even for creatures like us; resulting in headaches, nosebleeds and, in some cases, seizures." He looked at America seriously. "I-in fact, I don't know if you've heard this but a few of the human pilots they were testing out for the newer Jaegers have died."

"I did hear that, yeah," America said quietly. "...But _you're _okay, right?"

"I actually have a bit of brain damage," England said lightly. "But I'm not going to die, of course. It'll heal."

"...But you can't pilot, right? Not until-"

"I can - and I _will_, of course." England smirked at America. "I can't let you hog all the glory _again_, can I?"

"But you-"

There was a sudden flash from the orange caged bulb overhead; and a crackle on the tannoy system, buzzing for a moment, before the announcement poured forth and bounced around the metal walls:

"Would all Jaeger pilots and technical teams please report to the main terminal immediately. I repeat: all Jaeger pilots and technical teams please report to the main terminal."

"It's not an attack?" America frowned up at the revolving light.

"The siren isn't sounding," England said, shrugging. "And typically they call for certain Jaeger teams, don't they?"

"Maybe it's such a massive kaiju they need us all to fight it."

"Now is not the time for your demented ideas," England muttered.

"You forget," America said grimly. "This entire operation is one of my demented ideas."

They met France, Italy and Germany in the elevator down; although Italy ran missions with his brother and Spain, not Germany, he was still inseperable from him, hanging off his arm. He was as white as a sheet.

"Hey, what do you think, Italy?" America asked, leaning back against the wall for the ride down. "_Huge _kaiju, right? Big enough to bite Commandment Amore in half?"

Wide-eyed, Italy shook at Germany's arm.

"There couldn't be one _that _big, could there?" he asked wildly. "Germany?!"

"I don't think so," Germany sighed, shooting America a cool look.

"Amerique, you are unkind," France said dismissively, flapping his hand at him. "You will succeed one day in scaring us all to death."

America only laughed.

"I guess I'm scarier than a kaiju, huh?"

"Ah," France said, smiling, "but at least I have my Jaeger to protect me from a kaiju, non?"

England snorted.

"You only have a damned Jaeger because the G8 made the decision for you," he said nastily. "What's yours called again? White Flag, isn't it?"

"Now _Angleterre _is really quite as nasty as our foe," France said primly. "A shame that they missed a spot when painting yours - I hardly recognise it as yours without those monstrosities you call your eyebrows."

They were in each other's faces when the lift came slamming to a halt; America caught England by the back of his collar and peeled him away.

"C'mon, England, now's not the time," he sighed.

"_You _started all this," England replied irritably, shrugging him off, "teasing Italy about massive kaiju."

"It _could _be a massive kaiju!"

"_Germany_!" Italy wailed.

"Ah," Germany sighed as the doors opened. He had a strange, almost contented smile on his face. "This reminds me of the old times; the meetings when you'd all bicker and fight and I'd get angry because we were supposed to be talking about the economy. Doesn't it make you think?"

He shook his head as he stepped out of the elevator and into the hangar.

"Life was simple then," he said calmly, Italy trotting at his side. "And we took it for granted."

France shook his head, following.

"But who could ever have imagined _this_?" he asked.

America stopped just on the theshold of the lift, frowning.

"Me," he said quietly.

x

"I'm sure you all understand why it's necessary to scrap the current system," Pentecost said crisply; his arms were folded behind his back in a manner that did not invite query. "Frankly, it would seem that it's only your immortality that has preserved many of you from dying at the hands of the single-pilot neural interface."

It was certainly true that there was not a single human pilot in this room; each and every one of them perched in the clustered chairs was a nation, offered up by their respective governments for the cause.

"We can't expect you to do all the fighting," Pentecost went on. "By and large, this is a battle for human survival. Currently we seek not to preserve our history - but our _species _from extinction. This is not a war of nations, of clashing ideologies or religions. This sort of battle is prehistoric; that is why we had to put aside our differences in order to gain any ground. As it stands, we cannot win with a handful of battered Jaegers and pilots who do not die in battle only because they are unkillable. That is not an advantage."

He gestured to the screen behind him, which was alight with the inner workings of the Jaegers' current pilot system.

"Initially we considered that the best way of reducing the strain on the pilot was to initiate a type of "dummy system"; that is, each Jaeger would be programmed with the particular combat style of its pilot and the AI would do the fighting. However, in the simulations, this proved to be inaffective, with only a 30-70% ratio of kills. Even the simulated kaiju - based on data from real fights - behave unpredictably when faced with a Jaeger. Futhermore, research by the K-science team has proven that the kaiju seem to evolve, growing larger and more diverse with every appearance. We cannot rely on old data. Computers, however advanced, cannot think on the spot."

The screen changed: now it showed the blueprint of the Jaeger cockpit, modified, and shown with a pilot either side, marked LEFT and RIGHT. There was some muttering amongst the technical teams and the nations themselves, with Germany giving a sage nod of agreement.

America, however, immediately shot up his hand; Pentecost looked at him tiredly.

"Yes, Mr United States?" he asked dryly.

"Surely two pilots is counter-intuitive," America said, frowning. "I mean, it's all well and good to have two or even three Jaegers all fighting together but it seems like it would very difficult even for two really well-trained pilots to be able to move something like a Jaeger exactly in unison-"

"You forget about the neural interface," Pentecost cut in sharply. "Dr Lightcap, who invented the original interface system to connect a pilot to their Jaeger, has conducted further research into the part of the brain this process engages; and she has devised a way of using the Jaeger itself as a neural bridge between two pilots. The process is called Drifting."

"It sounds dangerous," France said coolly.

"Right," Prussia agreed loudly. "And besides, I don't want anyone in my head!"

"Nobody will be in your _head_," Pentecost replied. "The Drift is the initial moment of the link, during which your conscious will briefly merge. There is likely to be a small crossover of memory and experience as your brains align - but that is all. It allows the Jaeger's AI to correlate the left-side brain of one pilot to the right-side brain of the other. Once you've Drifted, you will have no trouble moving the Jaeger in unison. If two pilots control only one side of the robot each, it reduces the strain by half; proven, in simulation, to be far less dangerous for both parties."

"Is there still the option to pilot alone?" Prussia asked boredly. "Because I don't need a co-pilot. Me and Iron Phoenix can take down any kaiju, no matter how big or unpredictable!"

"No, there will be no "option" to pilot single-handedly," Pentecost snapped, looking around at them. "That goes for all of you. This is how the Jaeger Programme will move forward from now on."

Prussia leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"Do we at least get to choose our co-pilot?" France asked. "Or is this chosen for us too?"

"We have a preliminary list of two-pilot teams," Pentecost said. "Dr Choi's research has shown that siblings Drift better; however, with you, it is important to consider than you are not humans but living embodiments of nations. Shared language and history, rather than blood, is likely to make for a more compatible Drift pattern."

America leaned in close to England, running his fingertips over the inside of his wrist.

"We'll be together, then," he whispered in his ear.

"I expect so," England replied absently. He didn't look at him.

"Does this mean new Jaegers?" Japan asked.

"We are currently building new Jaegers in every Shatterdome, including two here in Los Angeles," Pentecost replied. "However, the newer Jaegers will be for human pilots. For you, some of your original Jaegers will be modified for the new system. The rest will be put into stand-by."

The screen slipped over behind him; now it showed the names of several Jaegers, alongside which were pairs of names.

"Any Jaegers which do not appear on this list are going to be put on stand-by," Pentecost went on. "Furthermore, this list is entirely preliminary. All proposed teams of pilots will undergo Drifting compatibility tests to ensure that they can fight together. The two-pilot system is still in beta."

There was some clustering around the screen as the nations left their seats to peer at the list, though Prussia lingered sulkily at the back.

"Looks like I'm with you, West," he said, elbowing Germany in the back.

"You are with me, it would seem," France observed, putting a hand to Canada's shoulder. "And not your dear brother."

"Ha." America stuck his tongue out at him, slinging an arm over England's shoulders. "Who else would I be with but England?"

"In Cosmic Revolution, naturally," England muttered. "Scarlet Monarchy is to be made redundant, it would seem."

"Cosmic Revolution is the better Jaeger," America said offishly, shrugging.

England pulled away from him.

"You can't be like this if we're going to pilot together," he said coldly. "That attitude of yours is insufferable. You were like this in the Forties, too."

"Ugh, whatever. We won in the Forties and we're gonna win now." America seized England's arm. "You and me are unstoppable, England. You know we are!"

England frowned.

"You're reckless, however," he said; he looked down at the hand clamped around his arm. "You always have been-"

"Nobody wins wars by being careful!" America said impatiently; he was hurt by England's less-than-enthusiastic reaction, frankly. "What's the matter? You're acting like you don't _want _to pilot with me!"

"It's not-"

"Must you have your lover's spat in public?" France asked irritably, breezing past them. "Angleterre, it is embarrassing."

England wasn't terribly inclined to pay France much heed; but he could see Pentecost shooting them both an irritated look and nodded.

"Yes, well, perhaps now isn't the time to discuss it," he said hurriedly, patting America's hand. "Later."

He pulled free, starting away; but America caught him again, his tone incredulous:

"There's nothing to discuss!" he said, pointing to the screen. "Me and you are piloting Cosmic Revolution. Together. That's it."

"It's only preliminary," England reminded him, annoyed. "Don't get ahead of yourself-"

"Why don't you want to pilot with me?!" America burst out frustratedly. "I don't get it, we've fought loads of times as part of the same team and we're _great _together-"

"It's not that I don't want to," England cut in coldly, meeting his gaze. "It's just that I don't think... well, I can't help but feel that it's going to be _difficult_, I-"

America was still pointing to the screen.

"So you're saying that this is wrong? Is that it, England? You think you know better?"

"I think that I know _you _better than anyone," England said calmly.

"Then all the more reason for us to be compatible!"

"No." England shook his head grimly at him. "The truth, I fear, is entirely the opposite."

* * *

America couldn't sleep.

He slithered out of England's arms, doing his utmost to leave him undisturbed, and pulled on his clothes; his old bomber jacket from the Forties, with 'Cosmic Revolution' in fresher paint above the '50', was soft and silent in the night, even the zip gliding in a well-worn whisper.

He spared him a glance, pausing at the heavy door; but England was either sound asleep or pretending to be and that was enough. America quietly shut the door behind him and pattered away down the steps.

The corridors and walkways were empty at this time of night but the hangars were another story; aflurry with Jaeger teams starting work on those machines selected for the two-pilot system. America peered over one of the fifteen-storey balconies to see Scarlet Monarchy gliding out of sight beneath, pushed away to make room for the bigger, active players.

He knew that England was insulted; Scarlet Monarchy was the only British-built Jaeger in service and to have her taken from him, forced to share America's Jaeger instead, stung his pride. That America could forgive.

Beyond that, however, and England's behaviour was frankly unfathomable. America didn't know anyone - not even Canada - half as well as he knew England. They shared a language, a culture, a history; England had raised him as a child, they had been lovers since 1943. If America couldn't pilot with _him _then... well, he didn't know _who _he'd be able to pilot with.

Well, the synchronisation tests would put it all straight: if England needed some numbers on a screen to convince him, that was fine. As long as they still got to punch some kaiju in the head, America wasn't particularly bothered.

He went up to the balcony overhead Cosmic Revolution, a favourite perch of his when they were doing repair work on her. The process of it all fascinated him, since he'd opted out of the technical side at the start of the Jaeger Project, wanting to put his all into piloting.

He wasn't alone; Dr Newt Geiszler was already in his spot, his legs dangling, a bag of Lays in his lap. America flopped down next to him, shoving his hand into the bag.

"Hey, Newt," he said idly. "You're up late."

"Nah, I'm just out of the lab late," Newt replied cheerfully. "Thought I'd come up and see what all the fuss was about." He shrugged. "And, well, Hermann threw another hissy fit."

"What, again? Jeez, he's worse than England."

"I _know_, right?" Newt rolled his eyes. "Ugh, thank god there's a whole team of us, you know? I couldn't _stand _it otherwise. Just me an' him in a room together..." He shuddered. "I'd rather share a lab with a kaiju."

America laughed.

"I get the feeling you'd rather that anyway," he said. "You keep going on about wanting to see one."

"Well, yeah, but I'm talking about like from a scientific standpoint - not arguing about how many exact square inches of the lab we get." Newt shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, crunching moodily. "I'm gonna put a kaiju brain on his desk, man. I mean it."

"That would involve you _getting _a kaiju brain first," America pointed out.

"Yeah, you bastards keep beating the living crap out of them," Newt complained. "We're getting fewer and fewer samples, Pentecost says it because of the extensive damage the Jaegers are doing to them during battle... Not sure if I _believe _that, I'm not stupid, I know there's a black market for the parts-"

"Yeah, I heard they make herbal medicines and stuff outta them." America tilted his head at him. "That true?"

Newt groaned in disgust.

"I don't know," he muttered, "but any kaiju bit not on my lab table is a waste. I mean, even if I just end up throwing it at Hermann, it's still been put to better use than as the base of a cough drop."

America couldn't argue with logic as sound as all that; and they crunched in companionable silence for a while, watching the Jaeger tech team below dismantling Cosmic Revolution's pilot interface to make way for the new system. It was delicate work, it seemed, involving extensive rewiring and reprogramming, not to be rushed-

Even though, as ever, it was a race against time.

"Isn't that your Jaeger?" Newt asked, peering down over his glasses.

"Yup. I'm gonna be riding her with England once they get the new system fitted."

Newt raised his eyebrows.

"So they're tossing his on the scrapheap? What a waste. I bet he's not happy."

"He's a little sulky about it," America admitted. "...Well, _very _sulky."

Newt snorted.

"Huh, him an' Hermann should have a tea-party."

America frowned.

"He... he seems to think we're gonna have difficulty piloting together," he said quietly, staring intently at the flying sparks at Cosmic Revolution's core. "Which is totally dumb, if you ask me. We know each other back to front. We trust each other. We've fought together as allies so many times. I-I mean, I just don't see what his problem is!"

"Maybe he's having an affair and he doesn't want you to see it in the Drift," Newt said solemnly, inspecting the near-empty Lays packet. "That's the thing, right? The Drift? I heard Pentecost mention it."

"Yeah, it's like... the neural bridge between the pilots' brains or something." America gave a snort. "And yeah right, like anyone in their right mind would have an affair with _England_."

Newt raised his eyebrows at him.

"Then you're not in your right mind," he concluded, patting him on the shoulder.

America nodded, his eyes fixed on Cosmic Revolution.

The monsters had been his idea, after all.

"Yeah," he said absently. "I guess not."

* * *

I feel like Newt and Alfred are like... more or less the same character, haha, so if they existed in the same universe, they would definitely be friends! :3

I tried to make the Jaeger names sort of fit the nation they were designed by/for? I mean, all the Jaegers have really weird names, haha, some of the ones listed on the _Pacific Rim _Wiki are hilarious (Coyote Tango, Diablo Intercept and fucking _Puma Real _spring to mind!). Maybe I should have just called the German ones 'Jaeger Jaeger' and been done with it, though... XD (Incidentally, France's Jaeger is called Victoire Halcyon, not White Flag, lololol)

Now excuse me while I go and cry over the fact that I started another fic whilst simultaneously not touching any of the more-than-a-handful that haven't been updated in like a year.

PART TWO WHENEVER, IDK, I'M NOT EVEN MAKING ESTIMATES/PROMISES ANYMORE, I NEVER STICK TO THEM. D:


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